


Ticking Trousers

by MournfulSeverity



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Comedy, Crack, Crack and Angst, Not Canon Compliant - Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-25
Updated: 2020-03-25
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:00:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23312755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MournfulSeverity/pseuds/MournfulSeverity
Summary: A simple thought set things in motion — literally. Now, something is swinging beneath the Dark Lord's robes and the embarrassment may kill him. Written for the Cards Against Muggles Crackfic Fest by Hermione's Nook.
Comments: 17
Kudos: 12
Collections: Cards Against Muggles Crack Fest





	Ticking Trousers

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing.
> 
> A couple of lines of dialogue were taken from DH.
> 
> This fic was written for the Cards Against Muggles Crackfic Fest by Hermione's Nook. 
> 
> Prompt:
> 
> Black Card: Lucius Malfoy didn't realize he had actually given Voldemort ______
> 
> White Card: a penis that swings with the rhythm of a pendulum

..

The room was deathly still, and, Lucius supposed, likely to gain that first quality should each of them remain with their eyes downturned, unusually interested in the quality this table had been crafted with or perhaps the number of lines on one's palm. Their focus was on anything but their Dark Lord who towered over them, his steps punctuating the silence.

"As I was saying," the Dark Lord began, his voice high and dripping with the potential for blood, the fate of whoever should deny him hanging heavy from his breath. "I understand better now. I shall need, for instance, to borrow a wand from one of you before I go to kill Potter."

A wand. To the ordinary witch or wizard, and most especially to a mudblood, this request would have been mundane, but for Lucius, for any of the members that sat here, it was a question of life or death. Akin to borrowing one's limb. Lucius certainly didn't care for the final battle to be fought as he hopped about on his one, remaining leg. Yet, the Dark Lord's footsteps that had taunted him, taunted all of them, stopped beside _his_ chair.

Lucius _would_ have been concerned about legilimency if he hadn't been so keenly interested in the stitching of his robes, which, as he determined, was quite exquisite. Far more interesting than the conversation he was avoiding.

"Lucius, I see no reason for you to have a wand anymore."

Ah, of course not. There was no reason to arm a traitor and that had most definitely become Lucius' value after that blasted Potter boy sealed his fate.

He swallowed the fear that had formed as phlegm in his throat, looking upwards and into the skeletal, demonic face of his Master. The red eyes that glittered with greed.

"My Lord?" Lucius stumbled over the words, all feeling from his body suddenly lost as he fumbled the folds of his robes for his wand. He could have kept it in his nasal cavity and at that moment been unaware.

"Your wand, Lucius. I require your wand." The Dark Lord's voice was flat, his patience waning.

The palm of Lucius' hand rested against his side, the slender wood held beneath. He let his hand linger on the silk a moment more, urging himself to wake up from this nightmare though such hope rested far out of reach. He pulled it finally from the folds, offering his wand, the thing he cherished most, to the man he cared for least.

 _Dancing dick._ Lucius thought as his eyes fell away, preventing any legilimency link the Dark Lord may pursue. _Prattling on about the greater good when—_

There was a sudden grunt of pain beside him, a "hrmph" sounded in confused surprise.

"My Lord?" Lucius questioned, his voice billowing with fear — not for his master, but himself. "I assure you my wand is more than satisfactory. It has served me well and I wish only the same—"

The Dark Lord's hand reached out, snatching the high back of Lucius' chair, steadying himself. His bloodless skin now ashen, the entirety of him turned away. Lucius wondered, for a moment, if he'd accidentally set his wand in a puddle of poison and simply hadn't remembered, but, no. This was something else.

Voldemort turned to look at him, the passionate flame that brewed in the scarlet of his eyes now dull, lined with Lucius' death.

And then there was movement.

From the corner of Lucius' eye, he saw the jumping of the Dark Lord's robes, once, and then again.

Lucius had been aware of their pesky little rat problem — one that had nothing to do with Pettigrew — but he couldn't say he expected this. Surely any rat would find the Dark Lord's pants uninhabitable.

"Lucius," Voldemort growled, his pointed teeth bared and his nose wrinkling with hatred. Lucius felt his heart flee him. It had not fallen into his stomach or risen into his throat, it had abandoned him entirely. " _Undo it."_

Those two words were more terrifying than the last, simply because Lucius had no inkling of what he referred to. "My...my Lord?"

" _Undo it!"_ He screeched, brandishing Lucius' wand as he turned.

Lucius stared into the black point, fearful that it would erupt with green, an Avada Kedavra spilling from it before Lucius had even known what he had done. He felt his breath hitch, the beginnings of a beg rising in his throat when a snicker sounded from across the table. A second. A third.

The laughter was infections, spreading from Death Eater to Death Eater and offending Lucius a little more each time. Never had he guessed his murder would include such hilarity.

"Talk about a trouser snake, eh?" The words were punctuated with a bellowing laugh, but Lucius was too concerned, too _confused_ to find the culprit.

His eyes drifted first upward and into the Dark Lord's face, into the white that had been impossibly whiter only moments before and now flashed with the red of an embarrassed rage. Lucius knew the only thing keeping him from his Malfoy plot in the back garden was whatever had elicited such behavior.

His eyes drifted, then, to below the Dark Lord's waist, to the movement of what Lucius had initially suspected was a rat, but knew was no reptile of any kind, and most certainly not a python.

The room they sat in was so dimly light, only the moonlight drifting through the open windows and a few distant torches allowed. Yet, Lucius could see it perfectly. A bulge of three inches or so, outlined by the Dark Lord's robes swinging from side to side in such a manner that Lucius could have used it to keep count of the time before his death if he so desired.

His own body lurched, the result of a building laugh contained only by his lips.

With his eyes intentionally lowered beneath Voldemort's glare, Lucius couldn't help the dwindling thought that perhaps the reason for the war, the murder, the blood that the Dark Lord craved, all came down to the size of his unerect penis.

Lucius expected torture. He expected the combustion of flames upon him, burning him to a screaming cinder or to be flayed layer by layer until he was only bone and blood. He expected more agony than the cruciatus could ever bring him, for his laughter, for his insubordination, for his thought which had so accidentally come to life.

But, the Dark Lord seemed dazed, equally as confused as the rest, _desperate_ to set things right, _motionless_. That was the only thing keeping Lucius alive, and though it had only been minutes since Lucius had handed over his wand, the hilarity seemed to stretch on for hours.

" _Reverse it!"_ Voldemort's voice was shrill, and Lucius was half surprised when fresh tears didn't spill down the Dark Lord's cheeks.

"My...my Lord," Lucius began between the beginnings of chuckles, his words loud so they could be heard over the laughter around them. "I don't know how, I didn't intend—"

Voldemort turned, the silver snake head clasped in his hand, the wand shaking with gentle, embarrassed tremors as he lowered the point of his wand to the tip of the pendulum that his penis had become. " _Pe...petrificus Totalus_ ," his voice wavered. The beginnings of sparks fell from the wand before fizzling unsuccessfully against his robes.

" _Locomotor Mortis!"_ His voice was more feeble, though just as determined. Still, the spell failed.

Lucius watched as the sweat upon the Dark Lord built, his forehead growing shiny, the wand now slippery in his hand. He watched Voldemort's frustration grow with each failed spell until even Lucius was surprised his Master hadn't tried a cutting spell, ridding himself of the organ entirely.

"Loco...motor," The Dark Lord heaved a breath, his face weary as he spoke. "Wibbly…" The wand remained motionless as Voldemort slumped forward, crumpling on the floor where he had stood.

Lucius pushed his chair backward so roughly it toppled, banging against the wood floor and beside Voldemort's now, _mostly_ still, body.

Lucius kneeled, his hand fumbling on the pale and clammy skin in search of a pulse or the movement of lungs. He relaxed it against the Dark Lord once more, a final laugh coming from him as he slid his wand from his Master's hand.

He pulled away, standing beside the Dark Lord's lifeless body and the penis that still swung with accidental magic.

Never had any of them expected the Dark Lord's own embarrassment to be his final defeat.


End file.
